"I wish you a future without one atom of bitterness!" he cried, as he pressed her closer. "You deserve nothing but sweetness, I am sure--your innocent face proves it." "You are kind," she murmured, and did not attempt to release herself from him. "But you do not know--you do not understand----" She abruptly paused. "What am I saying? It is nothing to you. Let us enjoy the scene. See how the moon is rising?" "As it rises, so does my interest in you rise, Estella." "Ah, señor, perhaps; but the moon sets, too." "But not my interest!" he cried, with a burst of passion which surprised even himself. "The first sight of your fair face drew me to you, every glance kindled the fire within my heart----" "Oh, Howard!" she gave him a single passionate glance. "It is true, Estella. Never before have I been so fascinated by such a lovely face, and----" The young war correspondent hesitated. There was a heavy step behind them, and a thick-set, rough-looking Spaniard, in the dress of a naval officer, came up and touched Estella on the shoulder. "Good-evening, Miss Corona," he said, in his native tongue. "I saw you at the supper table, and have been hunting for you ever since." "Good-evening, Captain Barbados," returned Estella, stiffly. It was evident that she was equally annoyed by the interruption and the person causing it. Captain Barbados looked sharply at Howard, and there was nothing to do but introduce the two. "Going to Cuba to take part in the war?" asked the captain, addressing Howard, in very bad English. "Mr. Sherwood is a war correspondent----" began Estella, and then, as Howard pressed her arm, she paused. "I mean--I mean----" "A war correspondent, eh?" muttered Barbados, and his brow lowered. "I thought the United States had already sent enough of those cattle down upon us." Howard's face flushed, and for the instant he was tempted to slap the Spaniard's face. Estella seemed to feel what was in his mind, for she caught his arm. "Shame on you, Captain Barbados!" she exclaimed. "Mr. Sherwood is my friend! To address him in that fashion is--is ungentlemanly." "Well, maybe." The Spaniard shrugged his shoulders. "I was not speaking of Señor Sherwood as a man. It is the calling I detest. War correspondents? Bah! They are spies, sent on by Americans who would set Cuba free! I know them, and so does your worthy father, the general." At the latter words Estella grew pale. Howard stepped forward. "You are mistaken, sir," he said, as calmly as he could. "I am a simple correspondent, and I am also going to Cuba, to look up a certain property interest left me by my late uncle, Robert Sherwood."